


God Can't Be Everywhere (So He Created Mrs.Hudson)

by fauxvol



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Family, Flashbacks, Gen, Just this once everyone gets along, Kidnapping, common goals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxvol/pseuds/fauxvol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has kidnapped Mrs. Hudson. Who will come to her rescue?</p><p>For an anonymous <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=123168751#t123168751">kinkmeme prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock and John

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure crack guys. I'm just having fun. Don't expect it to make a lot of sense.

She opens her eyes and has to blink a couple times before they focus properly. 

The room is completely foreign and she looks around for any clues. There's barely any light, the air is stuffy and the ceiling is stained with humidity. Probably a basement, then. 

Her arms are sore and cramped, and they itch as if they are about to fall asleep. She tries to raise them and stretch, only to find they have been firmly bound to the armrests of the chair she's sitting on. Just like her legs and torso.

She can hear the shuffling of feet and faint gruff voices coming from the room above.

Her head falls back to rest on the chair and she lets out a long sigh.

“Oh, boys. What did you get yourselves into this time?”

***

She wakes up with a start when the front door opens and hits the wall violently. She sits up to look at the clock on her nightstand. 4:02 am. With a small smile, she wraps herself in a thick dressing gown before going upstairs to 221B. The scene doesn't really surprise her any more; John and Sherlock slumped on the couch side-to-side in a mess of limbs and clothing, giggling like schoolchildren and covered in a disgusting mixture of mud, small white feathers and what she really, really hopes is not their own blood.

“Well, then.” she huffs and pats John's knee. She's had enough practice by now and she knows it's easier to get him to snap out of it than Sherlock. The doctor looks at her and grins warmly. “Bath. Up you go, I don't want you making a mess of the place” she prompts him and he replies quickly, jumping to his feet and heading to the bathroom. Bless Her Majesty's army. 

Sherlock is another story. He's already falling asleep, his body trying to catch up after (if her maths are not failing her) 73 hours of being awake, so she has to manhandle him to stand up and push him towards the bath once John is done. While Sherlock showers and John changes into clean clothes, she goes to the kitchen. She makes tea (a splash of milk for John, too much sugar for Sherlock) and a couple sandwiches with whatever she finds inside the fridge (no heads today, thank God). She sets them on the table, along with a plate of biscuits she knows they both like.

“Make sure he doesn't drown himself, love.” She shouts at John from the bottom of the stairs that lead to his room. “I've left you out some food. Just this once, mind you, I'm not your housekeeper”

She returns to 221A, not before checking the front door is closed and making sure the heating for 221B is on. There's a smile on her lips when she goes back to bed and quickly falls asleep, much more relaxed now that both her boys are home.

The next day, John and Sherlock take her out for dinner at that new restaurant she mentioned a few weeks ago. Sherlock is polite and mild-mannered, and amuses her with quietly whispered deductions of the other people in the restaurant, while John tells her (a heavily censored version, she knows) about the case they just finished.

All in all, a normal weekend in 221 Baker Street.


	2. Greg

“Mrs. Hudson is missing!” Lestrade hears Sherlock's voice even before the man storms into his office at Scotland Yard alongside John. The doctor is silent, but the look on his face is one of grim determination.

“What? Mrs. Hudson!” 

“Yes. Do keep up, Lestrade!” Sherlock all but snarls at him, more vicious than usual. He can't really blame the man, though.

“Okay, yes. We'll find her” he says firmly and, ignoring Sherlock's “ _obvious_ ” he pokes his head out of his office and yells “Donovan! My office, now” before going back to the two consultants.

***

Lestrade is shivering inside his damp coat when he rings the doorbell for 221 Baker Street. Bloody Sherlock Holmes, had him come all the way from NSY to take a look at the crime scene pictures because he couldn't be arsed to move for “barely a four, honestly Lestrade”. 

“Yes? Oh, Detective Inspector! Good evening.” A seventy-something old lady Lestrade vaguely recognizes as Sherlock and John's housekeeper opens the door and greets him warmly.

“Evening” he says with a polite nod. “Have something for Sherlock to take a look” He pats the front of his coat, where the thick manilla folder rests protected from the thin yet annoying drizzle that had started as soon as Lestrade left the Yard. 

“Oh, Sherlock and John are not in. They left a bit ago. Should be back soon, though” she explains, looking up and down Baker Street as if saying their names might summon them home. “Oh, but you're getting wet! Come on in, come on. They'll be back in a minute, but I'm not letting you freeze out there.” She ushers him inside before he can get another word in and quickly heads for the door at their right. “Well, come in, then. You take off that coat and leave it near the fire. I'll make some tea.” 

Before Lestrade realizes what he's doing, his coat is resting on an armchair and he is nursing a cup of warm tea, sitting at the lady's table.

By the time Sherlock and John roll in, almost two hours and three pots of tea later, Mrs. Hudson knows all about his many arguments with his wife, and Lestrade feels a stone lighter and has a renewed determination to make his marriage work. 

“It'll work out, you'll see” she says with a warm pat on his cheek, before retreating back to her flat and allowing him to go upstairs.

The divorce comes eventually, and it's nobody's and everyone's fault. When the papers come, Lestrade waits for the weekend he knows Sherlock and John will be in Scotland for a case and heads to 221A.


	3. Sally

“What is it, boss?” Donovan asks him, bypassing both Sherlock and John. But mostly Sherlock.

“Come in, sit down. Mrs. Hudson is missing” Lestrade explains.

“What? How did that happen?” 

Lestrade sighs and runs a hand through his prematurely grey hair. “I don't know either. Sherlock was about to explain.”

“We need to find her” she says in the exact same tone Lestrade used earlier.

“I know. Sit down and listen. Tell us what you know, Sherlock”

She does as she's told, sliding a chair to the side of the DI's desk, her eyes fixed on the consultant.

*** 

“Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to stay inside your flat while we search” Sally says curtly at the lady peeking her head out from 221A as about a dozen Yarders headed upstairs to 221B for the second fake drugs bust she had ever participated on. Unsurprisingly, both of them involved the freak.

“Oh, dear. Again?”

“Afraid so” Sally says with a nod. “Please stay inside”

Anderson closed the caravan. She smiles and gives him a little wave, but the man very obviously ignores her. Behind her, the lady tuts.

“He's no good for you, love. Bit of a chump, from the looks of it. And he's married.” she gives Sally a polite small, as if she were speaking about the weather instead of her love life. “You're lovely. Do yourself a favour and find a better man.” And with that, she turns around and goes back to her flat.

A year later, when Anderson has not only _not_ left his wife but is now taking her to France for a second honeymoon, Sally remembers the lady's words. She kicks her coffee table and spends the night snuggled on the couch watching an action film with lots of explosions and no romantic sub plot.

The next time she meets Mrs Hudson, months later, Sally has the arm of a very handsome lawyer wrapped around her waist and a renewed faith in romance. The lady smiles, winks at her consiprationally and keeps on walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Brits don't use "ma'am", but I couldn't find a suitable replacement, so feel free to suggest!


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock has just finished delivering all his observations to Lestrade and Donovan in his usual, quickfire manner when his mobile chimes with a new text.

“John, call Mycroft” he says offhandedly as he gives his phone a cursory, uninterested glance. The whole thing is so ludicrous, he has to do a double take to make sure his eyes aren't failing him.

_Hi there! A little bird told me your landlady is missing. Anything I can do? - Jim x_

_Is this another one of your games? If so, give her back. - SH_

_You wound me, honey. Harming little old ladies is beneath me. - Jim x_

_Okay, not really. But I wouldn't want anything happening to dear Martha. - Jim x_

_What is it to you? - SH_

_I have my own reasons. Keep me updated, would you? Not like I need you to, but it would be a nice touch. - Jim x_

As soon as the message is sent, Jim Moriarty hits the first speed dial and brings the phone to his ear. The line picks up, but whoever is on the other side doesn't speak. Though it's not like Jim expected him to.

“We've got things to do, Seb love. Five minutes.”

***

The boy stands up, wipes the blood dripping down from his nose with the back of his hand and pats down his clothes to clean off the dust. It was nothing new by then, being picked on by his classmates. He had seen it coming when his father had told him they were moving to Florida. Humans were stupid, and 7-year-olds were no better. He was the new kid after all, short, skinny, with the funny accent and the black eyes that seemed way too large for his face.

He swallows to fight back tears and hurries home, knowing his father won't be back until late at night. He can pretend he's asleep and avoid the pitiful glares and strained silences.

James has just fished the key to his flat - “ _apartment_ ” he snorts – when he hears steps coming up the stairs and turns around, his nerves still raw from the earlier beating. 

“Hello” the lady greets him in a kind voice. She has a badly-concealed black eye and two broken fingers. 

James looks down and hugs his arm, embarrassed of his split lip and the bruises on his arms. 

“What's your name, young man?” he hears her speak. He looks up to reply her (James is nothing if not polite), already dreading seeing the pity in her eyes. He almost jumps back when, after noticing his state, the woman gives him a warm, yet sad smile. 

It's not pity, he can tell. It's empathy. Understanding.

“James.” he replies warily. “Murtaugh. James Murtaugh”

“Jim, then” she says and he can't help smile a little. “I'm Martha Hudson. You live here with your dad, yes? Just moved in?”

James nods. Martha merely smiles wider.

Eventually, she manages to gently coerce him to take a look at the cut on his lip and the scrapes on his leg and they go to her house, two floors up James'.

Martha cleans him up and makes tea exactly the way James likes it. She lets him eat as many chocolate digestives as he wants and asks him to tell her about school. She never asks what happened.

“You're welcome to come by anytime, sweetie” she tells him as he's leaving. He doesn't reply and rushes down the stairs.

The next time it happens James has a loose tooth, a shoe-sized bruise on his back and his ears are ringing. He doesn't stop at his door and runs to the 5th floor instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim's backstory is my favorite.
> 
> Both Murtaugh and Moriarty are variations of the Irish surname Ó Muircheartaigh.
> 
> ***
> 
> Trying to write as many characters as I can. Who would you like to see trying to save Mrs H?


End file.
